Just Fine
by dimbledar23
Summary: George's 21st birthday is nearing, and despite the fact that he will be surrounded by his family, the prospect is massively daunting and he feels more alone than ever without Fred. Can a visit from the person he misses most change his mind?
1. Chapter 1

**Morning guys/gals. Please enjoy having a gander at my latest Fic; this chapter's been fun to write, so I hope it's fun to read. WARNING! Lots of angst! Please leave a review. It doesn't have to be long – even improvements and criticisms are welcome! TTFN.**

George was dreading his 21st birthday. He was dreading it because he knew that his mother would spend every spare minute of her week before knitting a brightly coloured jumper with an immaculately shaped 'G' on the front, even though he knew that she still did it even though she never had enough time to sit down. He was dreading it because he knew that Ron would visit The Burrow with Hermione, and Ron would retell the same old stories about his work as an Auror, and Hermione would make them all feel horribly guilty as she nattered about her rewarding work with S.P.E.W. He was dreading it because his father would harp on about random muggle crap that he found at work because he never knew what to talk about anymore. He was dreading it because Harry would come over with Ginny and they would be gloriously happy because Harry had just been made the youngest ever head of his department, and Ginny was well on her way to receiving top scores for her NEWTs. He was dreading it because Teddy would wander around table pulling on trouser legs and gurgling as Mrs Weasley stuffed him full of homemade food until his hair turned purple. He was dreading it because his older brothers wouldn't come because of "work commitments" but really because they didn't want to see an empty seat at the table. He knew that the bright jumper would make him look even paler and gaunter than usual and that Ron and Hermione's work would make him even feel even more forgettable than ever. He knew that his father's terrible jokes and unfailing happiness would just remind him how much he couldn't be bothered anymore to crack a fake smile or poke fun at his dad. He knew that Harry and Ginny would remind him how he was the most unimpressive person sitting at the table. He knew that Teddy would make him feel like the monster under the bed, and that that stupid empty chair at the end of the table would remind him that Fred was dead. Gone. And never coming back.

It was all he could think about. Every day since the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred had never left his mind. The physical scars were healing, but the emotional scars ran deep. They'd won. He could have been happy. He should have been happy. But who could be happy when their whole world had been ripped apart? His brother had become a memory in a second, and now he was weak with the effort of hauling himself around with only one body to support what used to be two minds in complete synchronisation. The rest of the Weasleys were suffering too, but not in the same way. They didn't have to wake up knowing that every day was going to be harder than the last, or dread falling asleep knowing that their dreams would just remind him of what should have been, and that waking up would just remind him that the thing he wanted most in the world had just been dangled in front of him like a puppet. However the rest of his family felt though, they never spoke about it. Everyone was so busy. Barely anyone seemed to even look at the empty chair anymore. They didn't even talk about Fred at the funeral. Lot of people turned up. Everyone chatted. Except George, anyway. He knew lots of people had tried to tell him how good the Wet-Start Firework display was. How Fred's face was so accurately formed by a thousand beads of orange light in the inky sky. George just hid in the room that he didn't have to share anymore and cried into the wall clutching the last ugly mauve jumper that Mrs Weasley had ever knitted with an 'F' on it.

The night before George's 21st birthday, dinner had barely finished when George shot upstairs to his room, avoiding the inevitable awkward chatter and then stony silence as the fire died in the grate, followed by the downcast gaze of his parents and a confused Teddy. As the creaking of the stairs slowly faded into silence, tears started to leak down Mrs Weasley's face.

"Oh, Arthur! I f-feel so h-helpless! I hardly know how to t-talk to my own s-son anymore!" she sobbed.

"Come on now Molly. George still needs time. He's had to learn how to live his life on his own. He's never been lonelier in his life."

"Bu-but A-Arthur I'm h-his mother! Why c-can't I e-ever seem to d-do any g-good for him anymore? Sometimes I f-feel like I b-barely know my own s-son!" Molly gulped, her eyes reddening further.

"George just needs to know that everyone's here, and everyone loves him. I think tomorrow will help. It's been ages since the whole family's been properly together, and seeing everyone might just remind of what life was like, you know, before. Besides, I've arranged for a few of his old school friends to pop over just to say hello. They'll help us win the old George back." Arthur reassured her, putting his arm around her waist and stroking her hair.

"I-I just m-miss F-Fred so much! E-Every day, just s-seeing George r-reminds me that I-I failed to l-look after one of my b-babies. I have n-nightmares, such h-horrendous nightmares! Whenever I-I close m-my eyes, all I can see is F-Fred, j-just lying there..." Unable to speak, Molly leant into her husband's shoulder and wept freely, waiting for his reassuring voice to tell her everything was alright – hoping that she was just being silly.

"I know, dear," Mr Weasley murmured, "I do too."

**Next chapter coming soon...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's chapter two – thanks to everyone that's read the story so far and left a comment. Reviews are great so if you have a second please leave a comment. Enjoy. **

George couldn't sleep. Not that that was his plan, anyway. He was determined that, if he was going to have to suffer through a birthday tomorrow, he would console himself with the knowledge that he, at least, had not forgotten his brother.

Carefully, so as not to wake anyone up, George stole out of the Burrow an hour before midnight, clutching his brother's jumper, his vision blurred by the tears swimming in his eyes. He silently trod the path out of the garden, the shadows dancing as if memories had been trapped in them and were fighting to break out. His eyes swept over the flowerbed and vegetable patch. He and Fred had spent many summers de-gnoming them for their mother. The year before they opened Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, they'd made deals with the gnomes offering to let them be if they could test the joke shop products on them. It had worked well until Mrs Weasley had come outside to collect some washing to find that the gnomes had sprouted canary wings and were launching a dive-bomb assault on the house. A smile began to twitch at the corner of his mouth as George remembered how his mum had grounded him and Fred for the rest of the summer and forced them to stay in their room, only for them to develop their best products yet, undisturbed by the rest of the family.

Just as it was about to reach his other cheek, the smile flickered and dimmed as he began to dwell on the fact that Fred was abandoned in the past, and he was stuck the present. In just one second, with one explosion, his brother had been locked away from him. There was no denying or questioning; Fred could never be one of those cases that may or may not have a happy ending. Or a missing person that may or may not come back. Fred was not one of those people that could claw at the boundary between what was definite and unknown, hoping, praying that someone would find him and rescue him from the past he was becoming. Fred couldn't have a happy ending or come back. His fate was definite. He was gone.

At the end of the dirt path George started up the steep incline of the hill at the edge of Ottery St. Cathpole to the site where they'd taken the portkey to the Quidditch World Cup. They'd held the funeral there. The ashes were scattered here too. Everyone had thought that George wanted the headstone and ashes here because it was close to home and was where Quidditch World Cup journey started. They'd been wrong – George wanted the ashes here because the hill was so high that Fred would be able to see for miles around. He'd be able to see the orchard where they practised Quidditch. He'd be able to see the Burrow in all of its patchwork glory. He'd be able to see the blinking lights of the village at night. The blinking lights that used to shine below them when they secretly flew over the village. Those few precious times that they managed to sneak their brooms up to their room and fly out of the window in the middle of the night and just enjoy being in the air and feel the sky wrapping them in a refreshing embrace. It was the wind in their hair as they swerved through the heavens and the simple feeling of being totally indestructible flooding through their minds and warming them to their finger tips. It was those moments that George missed most. It wasn't the fun and the laughs that he craved - George missed the times when they didn't even have to talk, they just had to know that they'd snuck out and made time stand still as the feeling of freedom pumped through their veins.

He reached the simple head stone and knelt in front of it, brushing the wild tangle of tangerine fire flowers away from the inscription. The glint of the moon in the inky darkness fell lazily on the stone, making the vibrant colours of the natural crystal pop like fireworks. He idly traced the name with his finger, letting his hand rest on the 'y' as tears silently toured down his haggard freckled cheeks. George bent his head as his hearty sobs reverberated in the otherwise silent air, as he draped himself over the grave stone. His limbs had turned to lead and the only thing that was keeping him from sinking into the damp ground was the very thing that symbolised why his chest was heaving and a torrent was tears was flooding his face.

"I-I m-miss you s-so m-much Freddy!" he wailed. The gaping hole in his chest seemed to be tearing wider as he crumbled under the weight of his own grief.

The snap of a twig suddenly rang crisp in the air. George jumped with such force that his left knee gave away from underneath him and his forehead collided with cold hard stone. For a second his vision blackened and he swayed uneasily. A pounding pain erupted across his forehead and his darkened vision seemed to intensify as he grappled in the air for something to lean on.

A moment later the pain had begun to ebb away and his vision started to reappear in steady sparkles and pops of light as a familiar voice murmured from behind him.

"Hello, Georgie."

**Thanks for having a gander at my work. If you like what you've read please leave a review and tell your friends. Until next time - TTFN.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the next chapter for you guys. I'm really thankful for the reviews that I get so please keep them coming! Also, If you decide this story isn't for you, have a look at my other story, 'Dances With Centaurs', which is a lot less angst and a lot more love. Enjoy.**

Slowly, George stood up and turned warily on the spot. His eyes bulged and his mouth sagged open. His tears stopped momentarily and his skin prickled. His mouth went suddenly dry.

Standing, just feet away from him, was Fred.

Exactly the same as the last time his saw him. For the first time in a year, George didn't need a mirror to see another version of himself. Still, this version was distinctly different looking. Fred's face was fuller than George's, his hair wasn't lank or dull in colour, and he wasn't gaunt and pallid. He looked healthy and happy.

George continued to stare bemusedly, until Fred whispered, "Georgie, George. Mate, it's me?"

In a second George had snapped out of his confused state and charged over to Fred where he grabbed him in a long awaited hug. Tears of relief tore in waves down his face and he bent his head into his twin's shoulder. His chest heaved, and the happiness that had been locked deep inside him for the past year burst free and bounced through his body.

George didn't speak for a while; he just held his brother in his arms. Eventually the tears stopped.

He couldn't believe it. What was happening? This was exactly the moment that George had dreamed of for the last year - he'd dreamed that he'd see his brother again. He'd prayed that Fred was happy wherever he was – but that 'wherever' had always meant another world, another dimension. He'd been teaching himself, slowly, painfully that that new world or dimension was unreachable and that no amount of magic or love or longing could retrieve Fred from there. Now he was here. Here, alive, on Earth, in Ottery St. Catchpole, in his brother's arms. He was here and he looked happy and healthy.

There was so much that George wanted to say. So many questions: why here, why now? Where had he been for the past year? How did he survive the Battle of Hogwarts?

Why didn't he come back sooner? Any other person would have started to feel the anger and betrayal seeping into their thoughts about now – after all, Fred had let them all think that he was dead, they'd buried him, mourned over him; George was still mourning over him. But the anger never came. The feeling of betrayal never reared its ugly head looking for answers. All that mattered was that Fred was back and the Weasley family was complete. What would his mother say? Her lost son, found, found and rescued from the past that he was becoming and dragged back into the future that everyone had their hearts set on, but thought they could ever have. Before Fred had died, no one had realised that the single wish that they all shared was to live a long and happy life, together, as a family. Now the family was complete and there was nothing that could ever separate them, nothing that could make their wish unfulfilled. Right? His mother's lost chick had flown back to the nest when everyone had given up hope.

George pulled away from Fred's embrace and looked him up and down. Fred looked exactly the same as he did the last time that George had seen him. The same jacket, the same patched up jeans, the same hair cut, the same lopsided grin. To George, it was like seeing his dearest memory fabricate before his eyes. He'd thought about Fred every minute of every day looking the exact same way, and how it appeared that that memory, against all odds had jumped straight into the real world.

Grinning madly, fresh tears of jubilation trickling from his eyes, George babbled, "I guess it's your turn to feel Saint-like, eh Freddie, showing up out of the blue like this?"

Fred smiled in response. George sniffed and smudged the tears away from his face with the back of his hand.

"I guess so, mate." He beamed, hands in his pockets. "Saint Fred does have a bit of a ring to it."

"Good luck getting anyone to believe you're a Saint after all of the stuff we got up to – apparently no one at Hogwarts has managed to live up to our awesome standards quite yet. It's just a shame that we pranking geniuses are so rare." George had imagined his moment for months and in all of that time he had never imagined that the conversation would start like this. Why wasn't he asking Fred all of the questions that we buzzing madly around in his head? Was this how they used to talk? George couldn't remember. He wanted the familiarity and normality to rush back – for everything to be exactly the same as it was just over a year ago – but something didn't feel quite right.

Maybe it was the small, insignificant part of his mind that knew why George wasn't getting to the point and asking the questions. He was afraid of the answers. He was afraid that something might shock and scare him, and that this perfect moment would being to fracture. He was worried that the answers would reveal a truth he didn't want to hear, so, for the moment, he was happy talking about Saints and pranks.

Something in his mind began to stir. He was wrong; he couldn't keep those questions at bay. They'd begun to gnaw away, pushed at the back of his mind, breaking other thoughts up until these parasitic wonderings were the only thing that George could think about.

The twins continued to face each other, awkwardly glancing in each other's direction as if checking to make sure that the other was real. George swayed on the spot, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't break the facade. _He's here_, he thought, _I don't need to know how or why! Everything's fine now that he's here._ But that thought kept on niggling: _Is it?_

George stared ashamedly at the dewy grass, and gave in to his poisonous curiosity. "What's going on Fred, how are you here?" he mumbled. George risked a glance upwards, and was eased by the fact that Fred didn't shatter into a million pieces because George couldn't trick himself into believing that coming back from the dead was normal. Instead, Fred just smiled.

"I was waiting for you to ask that," he said. "I'm here to talk to you. I'll tell you about how I got here after we've talked."

George's eyes widened slightly. Why couldn't he tell him now? What was stopping him? If he told him now would George be repulsed? Was that why he had to speak first, to ensure that George couldn't run away after he heard the truth?

Why did he get the feeling that not all of his questions could be answered – that there were too many and not enough time. Of course there was enough time. There wasn't a time limit, so why did George feel that there was? George never had to leave Fred again, did he? Never have to feel the soul-ripping pain that came hand in hand with leaving his brother and best friend in the cold unfriendly earth whilst he was forced to lead a life on his own surrounded by people that would never know how he felt.

Why was that evil little niggling feeling planting the seeds of doubt in his mind?

Why wouldn't it just let him be?

Why couldn't he just be happy?

It was Fred who broke the silence, sensing the tsunami of thought crashing around inside George's head. "Listen, I came to talk about how you've been feeling."

George snapped his head up.

"Come on, Fred! Since when have we talked about feelings together? You sound like how bloody Percy was at the funeral..." George's attempt to treat the situation like a light-hearted conversation from a before the Battle of Hogwarts faltered as he saw that there was no way for him to ignore the subject of Fred's death, however hard he tried. Fred broke eye contact with him and continued.

"Georgie I need to talk to you about how you've been acting ever since I died. You've cut yourself off from your friends and the whole family, and I can't sit and watch as you force this loneliness upon yourself." Fred's eyes met George's and he paused to check that George had taken in what he said. Fred noticed a slight wariness cloud his twin's features.

How could he talk so casually about his death? After all, it wasn't really his death was it? He was standing there, feet away from George, clear as day, and yet he didn't even flinch when he talked about the fact that everyone had believed he had died. Moreover, how did he know how George was feeling – know how he'd shut himself away from the world outside their bedroom? The bedroom he hadn't had to share in a year.

"How would you know?" he muttered in a small voice, "I-I haven't seen you in a year. I don't want to be lonely – this isn't something I've chosen, Freddie. I just haven't ever had to learn how to live without you and, it's the hardest thing I've ever done. No one else understands that."

"You're wrong, Georgie. I understand."

**TA-DA! Thanks for having a gander at my work. Please leave a comment – you guys and gals can't imagine how awesome comments make me feel, so please take a second to splurge. I'm on holiday at the moment and I'll have more time to write, so the next chapter will be up very soon. Until next time... TTFN. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again for the reviews and hits – they all keep me motivated to write the best that I can, so I'd be lost without you lot. Enjoy. **

Staring determinately at the ground, George uttered, "I'd never thought of it like that." Why had that never occurred to him? The idea that Fred was feeling the exact way that he was – trapped and hidden away from the person he missed most.

Of course, Fred wasn't missing just a brother and a best friend. He was missing his entire family. He was missing all of his friends. He was missing his home and the world in which he belonged. George's insides turned to lead as he thought of how he was surrounded by everything and everyone that Fred had been yearning for, for almost an entire year, and yet he was pushing everyone away as if contaminated with the plague. In fact, he'd been pushing everyone so far away that he no longer knew if they were plagued with misunderstanding at all. Time may have healed them, and he'd continued to force them away. Fred didn't have that choice. There were no people to force away, no home to lock himself away in, no room that he didn't have to share anymore.

Fred was alone, and George had been selfish in his grief.

"Fred, I.." George didn't know what to say. He wasn't the only victim. He had discredited the memory of his brother by wallowing in grief that he wouldn't allow to heal, like pouring stinksap on a wound and complaining of the pain to all that would listen, and by turning the attention onto him.

"It's OK, bro. It's been tough for us both. I-I've missed you so much as well, and, well, we're identical, so I know I would have probably acted in the exact same way. I know that if it was me that had needed the helping hand, you would have come to me and put me straight." Fred took a step towards his brother, put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and, seeing that this didn't console him fully, grabbed him in a hug.

George's leaden insides seemed to become lighter instantly.

"I'm so sorry Fred. You know that I'll always be here for you, right?" George mumbled through his brother's jumper.

"'Course I know that, Georgie," Fred muttered, pulling out of the hug, "Hey, cheer up, remember that time I fell out of the bedroom window and saved me?"

George laughed, "Yeah, you know, to get you back up, I briefly considered turning Percy into Rapunzel and growing his hair for you to climb up. The twit fell asleep by his window again - I could hear his snores coming from his bedroom window."

"Sounds like you found that Extendable Ear just in time mate. Still, I think Perce would look great with a twenty foot ponytail..." They both grinned feverishly. "That was the night Mum burst in as I was flying out on my broom wasn't it? Jumped so hard I fell straight out the window. And the shouting we got from Mum; I almost wished I'd fallen and hit the bottom..."

"I only found the Extendable Ear because mum shouted at me when I suggested turning Percy into a fairy princess. Come to think of it, she confiscated that after we'd saved you with it..."

This is what George missed. The flowing conversation, the laughs – making fun of Percy.

But however much the normality was flooding in, it could never, would never, drown out the doubt that was itching at the edges of his smile.

He still didn't know the answer to most of his questions. He still wasn't sure whether he wanted to know all of the answers. But if he did, would Fred ever tell him? Did he ever want to break this moment? Should he break it? Should he give in to the inevitable reality and accept that something was still not right? Could he settle for ninety-nine percent normality? He was sure that most of him could. In fact, all of him but that festering suspicion smudged into the back of his mind would accept what he was seeing and think nothing more.

"Hey, Fred, would you mind telling me how you got here and where you've been for the past year now?"

George found the confidence to look Fred in the eyes this time as he said it.

Leaning causally against the headstone with his own name etched across the front, Fred chimed, "Not yet, we're still not quite there yet."

George's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean? You're back and for the first time since... since it happened I'm genuinely happy! What more do we need to talk about? You're here for me bro, that's all I needed to hear."

"Of course I'll always be here for you, Georgie, you didn't need me to tell you that, we need to talk about the joke shop – what happened mate? What happened to our legacy?" Fred whispered, his piercing stare catching his twin by surprise.

"The joke shop's the same as it was the day we left it to fight. I haven't touched the place since. I think Mum and Dad might've gone there for the day to collect a few of your things from the flat – apart from that it's been pretty deserted..." George felt a stab of guilt.

He'd left the place to crumble to ruins. The blade digging into his gut twisted as he realised that he wouldn't have cared if his brother's life's work had crumbled to dust.

He could picture it now, the dilapidated exterior and dusty windows; the peeling paint and the broken roof tiles.

The memories floating around like ghosts.

What had he done? Why had this never occurred to him before? The answer was simple.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would have been a cure for his grief, something to look forward to and enjoy, and something that helped him hold onto Fred. Instead, George had chosen to inflict the pain of staying away upon himself. He used to think that the pain made him feel better because he deserved it. Why couldn't he have died instead of Fred? He didn't deserve the sympathy of his family, and the joys of the world outside his bedroom window.

So he'd left it to rot, and, again, in doing so, neglected his brother. Left the fabric of his brother that was sewn into his greatest achievement crumble as the shop crumbled. Let the part of their shared soul that had been pasted onto the walls peel and decompose as the building did.

He'd always thought the best place to see his brother again was inside his head, but clearly he'd been wrong.

"I left you," George groaned. "When I left the shop I left you too. I'm so sorry." The shaft of warmth in his heart was momentarily replaced with a shard of ice.

"I don't want you to be sorry, George. It's not me that I'm worried about. Half of that shop is yours. You didn't have me to support you, so you should have used our shop to support you instead. I don't care that didn't go there for me, I care that you stayed away for of yourself. It's been long enough, you've done your mourning at home, you have to go back."

"I will, I mean you're here now. We both will – we can make it great again, bro."

"Yeah..." Fred agreed half-heartedly.

Again, the doubt in the back of George's mind started to whir as if a rusted cog clicking to life. Why didn't his brother sound convinced? How could he so easily talk about George mourning when he was the very person that George was mourning over? Why did George have the feeling that, if Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was in fact resurrected, Fred would not be the person to help him do it?

Above all, where had Fred been for the past year, to know all this? It was true, they'd always known each other better than anyone else, but could he deduce all of this from a chance meeting in the middle of the night? Was this a chance meeting? Had he been living near? Was he in contact with the rest of the family – is that how he knew?

George gave in to the darkness and said, more determinately this time, "Fred, are you going to tell me where you've been and how you're here yet?"

"Patience, dear brother, all in good time! First, I think it's about time we had a chat about our chums."

"What about 'our chums'"?"

"You haven't talked to any of them since the funeral!"

How could he talk so casually about that?

"I, well, I, they could have talked to me!" George rebutted, though, truthfully he knew that even if they had he would have ignored them.

"They miss you, mate."

How would he know? Had he talked to them? Had he met with them? Is that where he's been, living with Lee, or Angelina or Wood?

"Yeah, well, if would have just been awkward, wouldn't it?"

"What makes you think that? We've all been friends since we started Hogwarts!"

"That's the point! _We've _been friends with them since we started Hogwarts! I've never hung out with them without you. All the memories I have with them I've shared with you. What would I talk about? How would I act?" George implored.

"Wow. I guess being the best looking twin _does_ make me the most intelligent after all," Fred said casually inspecting his nails. He continued to inspect nonchalantly for a second and then looked up to meet George's quizzical gaze.

"Are you honestly trying to tell me," he continued satisfied, "that almost a decade's worth of fun and laughs and friendship would be made irrelevant just because I wouldn't be there?" He wouldn't be there? That was true then, but not now, right? Fred would be part of George's future, wouldn't he? If he would be, why did he make it seem that the circumstances of the past would be the same as the future – that he would not be there, and that George would have to learn to cope?

"Well, no, I guess not, but, you know, I figured that they'd find it hard to talk to me – it's not as if I'd be able to add anything interesting to the conversation; I've spent the last year in misery. 'Hey Angelina! Wanna hear about the photo that I fall asleep staring at every night?'" George looked at his brother scathingly. "You see? Not only do I have nothing interesting to say, but anything I did say would bring you straight into the topic..." George trailed off, and watched to see how his brother would react this time. He did nothing, just continued to watch George, as if waiting for him to speak, willing him to let everything out. Fred was letting him release all of the doubt and the worry and the sadness that had been welling up for the past many months.

"Georgie," Fred began, "our friends needed you and you needed them. With friends like them you don't need to worry about awkward conversations or trivial rubbish like that, they just care about you being you. Actually, more importantly, they care about you being OK."

He was right, George knew. He should have tried to be a better friend – meeting Angelina and Lee, especially, would have made losing Fred a lot easier to bear. Angelina had always been one of their closest friends, and got really close with Fred after the Yule Ball. The guilt George had been feeling increased twice-fold as he thought of how he'd left Angelina, the only girl that Fred had really cared about, to grieve on her own. And as for Lee, he had a nose for mischief second only to those of himself and Fred. George had everything he needed to remember Fred in these two friends and yet he'd left them stranded in islands of their own grief. They weren't going to get their friend back or have an experience ever like they'd had with both him and his brother over the last ten years, but getting George back would be a start. In fact, George reasoned, most of the massive things that his brother and he had done in the past were the sorts of things that you only did once in a lifetime. After all, there was no need for them ever to activate a 'Portable Swamp' in the corridors of Hogwarts, or for them to fly out of the doors of the Great Hall on confiscated broomsticks after instructing a poltergeist of wreak havoc in their place. Who else could say they'd done that?

George couldn't recreate the past, but more importantly, he didn't need to. He and his friends had enough memories for a lifetime – for Fred's lifetime. They could do it, they could get through the present to a less painful future without Fred.

But... what had made him just think that? _Without Fred._ Of course Fred would be there – that's right, Angelina, Lee, Fred and he would be together again. Wouldn't they?

No. He didn't know why or how, but that sickening niggling feeling was starting to convince him too. Fred had been talking like his was temporary – like he would wash away or get sucked back into the past – and now George was starting to believe that he was.

Why would he just show up, completely and utterly out of the blue to talk about things that he could never know - like how their friends were feeling and like how he'd not visited the shop. Who greets a person that they haven't seen in a year with a conversation about feelings and actions that they could have no hope of knowing about?

The conversation they were having was a necessary one, George could see that now. If it wasn't, why had he brought that up first? Why was there no asking after the family? Fred had gotten straight to the point. Straight to the point as if he wouldn't have enough time for anything else or straight to the point as if he already knew all of the answers. Maybe because of both.

"Freddie, again, you're right about our friends – I see now that I could have helped them and I didn't – but I can't keep ignoring the fact that you shouldn't be here and that maybe because of that, you won't be hanging around long. Tell me the truth." Fred met George's piercing gaze and stood up. He walked over to his brother and put his hands on George's fists to qualm the shaking.

"George," he whispered, "you already know all of the answers to all of these questions."

At that second, George's head started to ache as it had when he hit it on the grave stone.

"How can I know the answers? I'm asking you! I – argh!" The pounding was gettin worse.

"George, listen to me. You know the answers but you are choosing to ignore them because the truth will hurt."

"Really? Because my head is killing me, but I don't see any answers."

He was wrong. As he moved his hand from his brother's grip with the intention of clasping his head with it, he saw that Fred's hand had turned slightly transparent. George could feel his brother's grip as tight as ever, but his eyes were telling him that Fred was made of coloured smoke.

"I-I, wha-what?" he managed to stutter, before the idea that had been locked in the back of his mind burst free of its chains and leapt to the forefront of his brain.

"Oh God," he choked, "you're not back are you?"

Fred sombrely shook his head.

"You weren't living with a friend or a member of the family were you?"

His twin shook his head again.

"You died that day, didn't you?"

Nod.

"I'm..." Fred began.

"...all in my head." George finished.

"You knew it all along, George, you just chose to ignore that nothing added up. I look exactly the same as I did the day I died, the same hair, the same clothes, exactly the same way that you have remembered me since. All of the things I made you think about, all of the questions I asked, you already knew all of the answers, you just had to look inside of yourself to find them. I told you that you've been ignoring the family, but that's only because you knew, in your heart, that that was true. It's the same with everything else. All of the things I told you were things you already knew, but things that you'd buried in the back of your mind. You wouldn't listen to yourself, so you made yourself listen to me."

"But, you're so real - how did this happen? How did I invent you, and tonight? Why tonight?" But he already knew the answer, and it was falling into his thoughts. "I'm not awake, am I?" He groaned, still clutching his throbbing head, despairing at the idea that the shining hope he had felt earlier was being shredded by irrevocable truth and sense. He'd been knocked unconscious when he hit the gravestone– the pain on his forehead was clear evidence of that. Fred wasn't coming back. He was dead. Everything that Fred has said tonight was part of an elaborate dream.

A dream that was ending fast. "But hang on, how am I talking to you like this, now, after realising all of this, and how are you talking to me?"

"I may have died, brother, but there will always be a part of me that lives in you. You can't ever separate twins – not really. I look real because you wanted me to be so. Your most desperate wish was for me to be alive, so your brain used the connection that we will always have to convince you that I was, in fact that I still am, to help you sort yourself out. You noticed that you'd locked away all of the reason and understanding, so you let it all out in the form of me. The Fred you see talking to you now is just relaying the things you already know. I'm still talking to you because, for the moment, you need to know answers, and your brain is feeding you the truth that you are choosing not to listen to."

He'd fabricated his brother as a form of self-help and yet, the pain in his heart was the greatest he had ever felt. The brother he thought he'd gotten back was disappearing as truth set in and forced him back out. Being honest to himself had cost him his brother. To know that the brother he as seeing was just another part of his own consciousness made him feel lonelier than he ever had before.

Fat tears started to roll down George's cheeks, as he watched his brother fade before his eyes – he was beginning to wake up.

"Freddie, you can't go! Why aren't you staying?!" George panicked – surely if he just willed Fred to stay, he'd start to reappear?

"Calm down, mate, it's OK. You'll be fine. When you wake up, you'll have the world to look forward to again. You can be part of the family again, get Weasley's Wizard Wheezes up and running, and get your friends back."

"But I want you back as well!"

"You and I both know you can't have that. But you know that I'll always be with you in there," Fred murmured, tapping a fading finger on his brother's temple, "and in here," he tapped the left of his brother's chest, "don't you?"

"But how can I live, now, knowing that everything you told me tonight came from my own thoughts? Knowing that you might be trapped somewhere, suffering, and that in my head you're just a happy illusion?"

"You can live knowing that the part of me that lives in you is telling you that I am happy where I am, and that I want you to be happy."

That was true, George could feel it. Fred wasn't alone. This was nothing to do with his thoughts. He would know, in the bottom of his heart if his brother was sad; he'd always been able to before – why not now? After all, nothing had ever separated them in life, so why would death have succeeded? He could feel Fred, the little bit that was stitched onto his soul. George was the last part of the puzzle of places that Fred had latched himself to during his life.

"But..." But Fred already knew what George was going to say.

"Honestly George, I'll be fine."

The grip on George's hands vanished, and the world began to spin to the point that George thought he was going to be sick.

George was no longer in the company of another. Fred had gone, and for the second time, George didn't say goodbye. Sudden bone crushing despair added to the immense unease in his stomach.

Just as he thought he could bare this feeling no more, the sickness and the pain stopped as quickly as they had erupted.

In the moment before his eyes fluttered open to greet the world he had been neglecting, George heard a familiar voice in the back of his head saying, "Goodbye George. I'll be fine, just fine."

"Goodbye, Freddie," he thought, "I love you".

**Sorry this chapter has taken so long to write; I hope you had fun having a read. If you did, please leave a review. Next chapter will be on its way soon. Until then: TTFN.**


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